The Morning After
by Renee6061
Summary: Missing scene from "Nicodemus." Jonathan can't remember what he did under the influence of the mysterious flower. But Pete is happy to help.


Rating: PG

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.

Author's note: Since writing "Vessel" was a rather depressing experience, I wrote this snippet just to cheer myself up!

To all the ghouls in the TC club: I slipped a little tiny something in here just for you. See if you can spot it.

To Smallvillian: Thanks for the magic word!

The Morning After

Pete opened the door to the hospital room to find a very excited Martha and Clark perched on the bed, fussing over a very confused-looking Jonathan.

"Hey, Mr. Kent!" he said, smiling. "You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."

Jonathan smiled back and held out a hand to grasp Pete's. "You're not looking so bad yourself, Pete. I hear we both got a dose of this—whatever it was."

"Yeah." Pete sat down on the bed as Martha scooted over to make room for him. "I'm feeling kind of stupid right now. After you and Lana both got it, I should have been more careful."

"Not your fault, Pete," Clark put in. "Chloe told me what happened. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Me too." Pete grinned impishly. "Too bad you had to knock me out so quick. Sounds like I didn't have nearly as much fun as your dad did."

"_Pete!_" Clark's voice went so high it could have attracted bats.

Pete looked from Clark's and Martha's chagrined expressions to Jonathan's startled one, and realized he'd just put his foot in it. "You didn't tell him."

"We weren't _planning_ to tell him, Pete," Clark said between his teeth.

"Tell me what?" Jonathan demanded, his eyebrows raised as high as they would go.

Clark looked at his friend pleadingly. Pete got the message as clearly as if Clark had said the words out loud: _Don't tell him about the gun_.

Pete thought fast. They'd have to tell Jonathan something to placate him, but what? An idea came to him and he grabbed it.

"Look, Clark," he said sympathetically. "I know it was embarrassing for you to walk in on your parents like that, but I don't see why it has to be some big state secret."

"_Pete!_" The squeak came from Martha this time. Jonathan's mouth opened, but he appeared to have been stricken speechless.

Clark blinked in surprise, then caught on. "Well, you know—we thought since he didn't remember it, we just wouldn't . . ."

"Remember _what_?" Jonathan's voice was working now, but it too sounded unusually squeaky.

"It was nothing, sweetheart," Martha tried to reassure him. "Clark just happened to walk into the kitchen—"

"This was in the _kitchen_?"

"On the counter," Clark blurted out without thinking, and then wished he could bite his tongue out when his mother gave him a look that would have melted lead. Pete looked on with interest. He had known the Kents his entire life, but he'd never seen them all blush at the same time before.

"Now stop it, both of you," Martha ordered. "The whole thing was strictly PG, and you know it, Clark."

Clark started to grin as the scene came back to him. "Yeah, maybe, but it was heading for PG-13 pretty fast, Mom."

Pete snickered. "Good thing you weren't five minutes later. You'd have needed fake ID just to get into your own kitchen."

"All right, you two . . . " Martha began helplessly.

"Clark, you're embarrassing your mother," Jonathan interposed, going from bewildered to stern in nothing flat. It was amazing how authoritative he could manage to look, even in a hospital gown. Clark hastily turned off the grin.

"Sorry, Mom."

But Pete was on a roll now. "It's okay, Mrs. Kent, I know how you can get back at him. Just ask him what Lana did when they were at the pool."

"PETE!" Clark charged around the bed, eyes blazing. Pete dove through the door without a second to spare.

"Boys!" Martha called. "Don't run in the—"

The door slammed behind Clark.

"—hospital."

"What was _that_ all about?" Jonathan wondered.

Martha chuckled, still looking after the two. "I have no idea. But we'd probably have to torture Clark to find out."

"Um . . . Martha?"

"Hmm?" Martha turned to see that Jonathan was blushing again. It gave him a remarkable resemblance to Clark when the latter was a little boy and Martha had caught him sneaking cookies.

"Um . . . " He cleared his throat, looking positively bashful. "Would you mind telling me exactly what _did_ happen on the kitchen counter?"

Martha's eyes twinkled, and she leaned over him. "How about I show you instead?"

The End


End file.
